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This is the official blog of Northern Arizona slam poet Christopher Fox Graham. Begun in 2002, and transferred to blogspot in 2006, FoxTheBlog has recorded more than 423,000 hits since 2009. This blog cover's Graham's poetry, the Arizona poetry slam community and offers tips for slam poets from sources around the Internet. Read CFG's full biography here. Looking for just that one poem? You know the one ... click here to find it.

On behalf of your neighbor to the south,we surrender.Since you set ablaze our White House in 1814,we have tried to resist youwe have mocked your accentrejected your poutinestolen your best actorsfilmed Oscar-winners in Vancouver and called it Seattleand neglected to learn the geography of your provinces

we will begin adding extra “U”s to our wordspronounce Honour, Colour and Armouras they are intendedwe will adapt our tongues to “A-Geinst” and “A-Boat”remeasure miles in kilometerspounds in kilogramsturn our thermostats down to minus-15,in Celsius, not Fahrenheitand adapt our skins to the inevitable northern windssoon to blow hence,

just to show you we’re seriouswe’ll even submit to two years military conscription— even through Canada doesn’t have the draft —our kids would do better building Third-World clinics and schoolsrather than blowing them up

send your Mounties southwe’ll great them with open arms,our citizens will drive just below the speed limitand start smoking copious amounts of marijuana,but do so responsiblyas you so nobly taught us

we will begin shortening our sportsfrom four quarters to three periodsfor nostalgia’s sake, baseball will stay at nine innings,but we’ll concede to call it American Cricket.

Dear Prime Minister Harper,welcome us as your brothers and sisters in the Commonwealthput in a good word for us with the Queenwe will rename the U.S. Congressthe Parliament of the United Provinces of Southern Canada —it was due for an overhaul anyway —and spend the next decade learning how that shit workslet us keep Governor-General Obama during the transitionuntil Her Royal Highness appoints a new French-speaker to the post

By first prefixing the pedestrian “USS” with the regal “Royal”the Royal American Navy will begin renaming warshipsand sail home to merely protect our shores

The Royal American Marines will inscribe“Toujours fidèle” beneath “Semper Fidelis”on all their stationary

in revenge for Terrance and Phillip,we’ll execute Trey Parker and Matt Stone to make amendsbut since capital punishment is banned in Canada,we’ll sentence them to creating tourist videos for the CBC

Once your conquest is completeonce our schools have risen to your minimum standardsonce “Bonjour!” and “Hallo” is as commonas “Howdy” and “ ’Sup dawg?”then I ask one favorone small request in paymentto the unconditional surrenderof our bald eagle sovereigntyto your maple leaf dominance:

with the border fluidand immigration law a mute pointI’m searching for someone

there is a girl in your countryshe is easy to overlookbecause she stays in the shadowsavoids the cameras on busy streetsthough you can find her at festivalsdancing barefoot at the center of the worldas though the stars forged visas from heavenslipped passed the earthly border guards to stand in the plazassleeve their glow in human bodies around herand dance until the setting moon revokes their passportscalls them home to press their lips into constellationsyou will not know she is hereuntil someone asks later if you saw the midnight sunswirling the street in the afterglow of the stage lightsI’ll admit I’ve never seen an aurorabut I imagine it feels like her laughterand I know why polar bears and icesheetsstay north of the Arctic Circlebecause that’s as close as they can get to her

do not stake out hotelsthinking she’ll slip in some nightshe can sleep in ditches,on strangers’ rooftops,the beds of pickup trucksor backyard trampolines,anywhere she can find 10 square feetand quiet until the dawn

instead, you can search for her on the wide open Trans-Canada Highwaysomewhere between St. John’s and Beacon Hill ParkI know it’s 8,000 kilometers,so keep your eyes peeledif you see her, it’ll be by outstretched thumb firstI know Canadian winters can be harshbut you will identify her by her smilebecause it will keep you warm no matter the seasonnow, her unpasteurized joy will take longerfirst, she’ll get comfortable in the seat,ask you your historyand wait for your story

speak slow,tell your story as best as you can recallshe asks many questions and will cross reference your answersshe will forgive a faulty memoryas long as the words as spoken sincerelyand know that even if she’s not listening to your every wordshe’s interpreting the sound of your voiceso be honestdo not lie to hershe will see your fabrications before you can erect themsweep kick them out from under youand leave you splayed out on the floorbefore the lies can even leave your lips

she will play the role of strangerdrop lines of prepackaged wisdomplay her preshuffled hand of cardsbut this is still her shell,her way to test your defensesjudge whether you’re worth a second tryhere, I can offer no advice— she still gauges me with every phone call —the game has no trick to win it;it’s a measure of character or honorsomething no one can give you and none can take awayif you don’t have it,you can drop her at the next stop for gas,and thanks for the lift,but if she sees it,she knows you’re worth more than a ride

she will start to unpeel herself like cloves of garliceach one covered in its own thin armorlet drops of stories unshelter their instructionshe’s taken the hammer and nails of her ambitionand realized potential to build bridgesfor the rest of us to walk across

and somewhere between Havana and San Salvadoron the Black Rock City playaover a bento box lunch in Sapporo,her joy will hit like a hidden tsunamiyou didn’t see comingsweep you away from shelter or shorelineas those waters fill your lungsyou’ll wonder just how you were so oblivious for so longhow could you have not felt the energy she bottled

in these life stories of her travelsyou’ll understand why she cast off worn shoesto walk barefoot in the dirtand spin fire from her arms in the desertbut leave no footprints to followjust the earthquakes and scarsin those of us who ache for her returnthe way zealots pray for messiahsin their late night confessions the day before martyrdomshe’s a first-aid kit for boys like mewho didn’t know they were broken-hearted before hershe moves in like chess pieces on a board of checkersbrings a Howitzer to knife fightlets loose a Pamplona herd in a china shopbut will offer to sweep up afterward

I’ll admit her tomboy tongue blindsides on idle Tuesdaysas if the ancient six-day week cleaved open just for her,added one more day and said“fuck the mathematics of calendars”if she could sleep for dayscuddled in a boy’s armsshe’d surrender the worldbut the urge to burn and rage at end of daypulls her back into the dreamlessnessthere are too many stories to livetoo many fingertips to touchtornadoes can’t stay stationary either despite the scenery

if you can’t find her on the roadyou can search the boxcars,ask hobos about a girl made of hula hoopswhose pulse thumps in rhythm to railroad tiespickup all the hitchhikers you findand en route between points A and Bsubtlety ask if a dark-haired, brown-eyed dancerwith weathered hands and a black bandanahas recently shared a meal with themoffered to manufacture a tutu orsew leg warmers from leftover sleeves

Yukon men won’t admit itbut they came century too earlyand weren’t looking for goldthey came to clear the roads for hergive the earth a wound for her to healto train her surgeon hands

if all else fails,you can coax her into the openby leaving out a plate of melted cheese and fresh garlicI guarantee she is unable to resist themit make take years, so make it fresh every few hoursand she’ll track you down one day

once you find hergive her a warm bedwith no annoying alarm clockskeep her unchained and unlockedleft free to roam or return on her whimshe may pilgrimage to ashrams or overlooksor cathedrals cut into stoneawaken the third eye in prophets and psychicswho’ve never looked too deep but foresaw her comingshe instigates greatness in those too afraid to birth it themselves

she may still wander away in the daycall down the sun and the moon to dance at duskbeg Orion to share her armsand press her lips against new strangers

but if she leaves you, do not chase her,she befriends guerrillas and revolutionarieswho give her sanctuary like she was a daughterthey will fight to keep her unyieldingknow that she growls back at coyoteschases them from her playgroundsand though she may ache for warm limbs beneath bedsheetsshe can find midnight outdoor air just as soothingshe’s too fierce to hold on to too tightlyshe can bite open a boy she loves from the eyebrow downso imagine what she does to transgressors

I will not fault you if she leavesjust let me know where you last saw herpoint me in the general direction of her last appearanceshe’s worth the pursuitwhatever you may think of hershe is more

Dear Prime Minister,if you vow to search for herif you promise to give it your allyou can have this countrytake whatever you want from itimport our monuments like the caesars did obelisksrename our parks after your heroesimpose your laws or revoke oursredraw our states into a gridor the image of Pikachuit doesn’t matter to me anymorejust demolish the borders between userase the lines that divide

leave the office buildingto share the blood and handshakes and laughterwithout the nomenclature of nationsdream beneath her starsfeel the sun kiss canyons and mountainsgive us the freedom of movement to find each otherbecause whatever you believe I think of hershe is more

As per The Klute: "Persona piece. 'Red Dawn' meets the 'Joe Canada Rant' set in an alternate universe for some reason."

February 28, 2010A date which will live in infamy.

We should have seen it coming,When our boys in blue were beaten,Before the eyes of the whole world,At the game of ice hockey.We all wept when Americans were forced to stand beneath that maple leaf,Made to listen to someone else's national anthem for a change.You could almost hear the collective licking of our northern neighbor's chopsAs they realized America's one weakness:We're not that good on the frozen pond.So a cabal of generals of the Canadian Armed Forces hatched a plan.Using an eco-friendly, green technology doomsday device,They would erode our long-standing line of defenseAgainst Great White Northern agression.They reversed global warming!A new ice age was upon us.

Their advance,Like Quebecois tourists driving in the fast lane,Was slow and methodical.With no NHL team to defend it, Seattle was the first city to fall.We tried to fight back, but it was no use.Flocks of suicide geese grounded the Air Force.Our Navy was crippled by strategically-placed icebergs.The Army? Let's just say you don't bring a machine gun to a polar bear fight.When they blasted George Washington's face off of Mt. RushmoreAnd replaced it with Gordie Howe,The resistance collapsed.Panicked American refugees began to pour over the Mexican border,The Red Maple now waving over the White House.

We survived in the United American Provinces of Lower Canada,But they began to change us.We were more polite,Less eager to wave around a loaded handgun shouting "Who wants some!?! Who Wants some!?!".Distances were measured in meters,Temperatures reported in centigrade.No one knew what the fuck was going on.They denied our God-given right to die in a gutter,Broke and penniless, Of an easily treatable illness.I remember when my father was taken away...On a government-mandated two-week holiday,Clutching the plane tickets to Aruba in his hand, he shouted "AVENGE ME!!!"We tried, Papa, but we were too busy getting drunk on Labatt's BlueAnd planning our next trip to the Edmonton Folk Festival...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Now, due to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, I must begin this poem over in French:

No! This is a bridge I will not cross.They cannot make me speak in French!I will resist,Proudly dipping my freedom fries in ketchup, and not poutine,Replacing my tuque with a foam-dome filled with two cans of shitty American beerAnd I will not let them change everything about us, from A to Z -Because it is "Z", Not Zed, Z!!!We will drive you syrup drinkers back across the 49th parallel north,Raise Old Glory once again,Take away everyone's health care,Give the upper-class a tax cut, then really stick it to the poor,Like we used to do when were still remembered what it meant to be American!So let me say it so you can understand it, O Canada:

Klute, The: A rare breed of Southern Arizona slam poet, originally raised in Southern Florida (however, he's not a native Floridian - rumors trace his origin back to Illinois).

Abhors use of rhyme schemes in poetry, writes almost exclusively in free verse. Frequent targets: the goth subculture, neoconservativism (especially Dick Cheney), and crass-commercialism. Member of the 2002, 2003, 2005, and 2006 Mesa National Slam teams (Mesa's 2005 slam champion), and 2008's Phoenix Slam Team. SlamMaster of the Mesa Poetry Slam. Has released three chapbooks of his work: 2002's "Escape Velocity", 2005's "Look at What America Has Done to Me", and 2008's "My American Journey". Ask him nicely and he might send you a copy. Primary habitat considered to be raves (especially desert parties), goth clubs, and dimly lit dive bars. Prefers vodka, rum, and absinthe when drinking. Is considered friendly, but when cornered, lashes out with a fury not seen since last Thursday. He's totally smitten with his girlfriend, Teresa - so don't ask him to dance. Feel free to buy him a drink, but remember, he's not putting out. No matter how much you beg.

People are talking about The Klute!

AZSlim, Espresso Pundit poster: Don't argue with The Klute. His hyperventilating and pure hypocrisy shown in these (and many other) posts makes reasoning with a two-year old who didn't get the popsicle he wanted seem tame by comparison.

Phoenix 944 Magazine says: Despite the heat, [The Klute] wears a black trench coat almost everywhere he goes and if the setting permits, he’ll blast through enough slanderous commentary to make Andrew Dice Clay blush. [He] admits he started slam poetry out of arrogance. He saw a performance and figured he could do better, after which he also admits he failed miserably. Today, his addiction for getting in front of the microphone and spitting out everything from a Dick Cheney haiku to a long-winded prose on race car driving to the late Hunter S. Thompson is as strong as his love for vodka and absinthe. If anyone’s seen “The Klute” in action, they’d know it. If they haven’t, they must.

Jerome duBois, The Tears of Things: You have one of the blackest hearts I've ever had the misfortune to glimpse.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Tomorrow, Friday, Feb. 18, I will be in the “for sale” in The Bold & the Beautiful Bachelor Auction. The auction is a fundraiser for Sedona Red Rock High School hosted by the Scorpions Booster Club.

The auction includes a bachelor and a date package. Bidders have the option of taking the date package and the bachelor, or just the date package, so women with husbands or significant others aren’t technically obligated to take their bachelor if they choose not to.

The Bold & the Beautiful Bachelor Auction takes place Friday, Feb. 18 from 6 to 10 p.m. in the large dining room (on the right, not the bar on the left) at Olde Sedona Bar & Grill, 1405 W. SR 89A, West Sedona.

Dinner includes a choice of pasta primavera, Cobb salad, or tilapia with mango salsa.Tickets $25 in advance, $30 at the door, available at: Sedona Red Rock High School office, Bashas’ in West Sedona, Best of Show and Music and Isadora Handweaving Gallery at Tlaquepaque. Limited seating.

For the last three weeks, I've been watching the street protests in Cairo online, mainly on Al Jazeera English, which often has streaming coverage from Tahrir Square and great coverage for non-Arabic speakers. I've seen and heard about acts of heroism from everyday Egyptians, from army officials who refuse to interfere with the peaceful protesters to volunteers who set up checkpoints to prevent bombs and weapons from entering the square, and internationals who've left Sweden, England and the United States to join the crowds in solidarity, but this image is my favorite thus far.

Since the street protests began in Cairo on Jan. 25, Egyptian Copts and Muslims have protected each other. Pro-government mobs attacked demonstrators before the Egyptian Army created a buffer between the two groups.

Egyptian police have also used water cannons on Muslims during prayers in the streets:Now, I'm an atheist and no fan of organized religion ... but you don't fuck with someone when they pray.

“We either live together, or we die together,” was the sloganeering genius of Mohamed El-Sawy, a Muslim arts tycoon whose cultural centre distributed flyers at churches in Cairo Thursday night, and who has been credited with first floating the “human shield” idea.

Among those shields were movie stars Adel Imam and Yousra, popular preacher Amr Khaled, the two sons of President Hosni Mubarak, and thousands of citizens who have said they consider the attack one on Egypt as a whole.

“This is not about us and them,” said Dalia Mustafa, a student who attended mass at Virgin Mary Church on Maraashly. “We are one. This was an attack on Egypt as a whole, and I am standing with the Copts because the only way things will change in this country is if we come together.”

In the days following the brutal attack on Saints Church in Alexandria, which left 21 dead on New Year’ eve, solidarity between Muslims and Copts has seen an unprecedented peak. Millions of Egyptians changed their Facebook profile pictures to the image of a cross within a crescent – the symbol of an “Egypt for All”. Around the city, banners went up calling for unity, and depicting mosques and churches, crosses and crescents, together as one.

The attack has rocked a nation that is no stranger to acts of terror, against all of Muslims, Jews and Copts. In January of last year, on the eve of Coptic Christmas, a drive-by shooting in the southern town of Nag Hammadi killed eight Copts as they were leaving Church following mass. In 2004 and 2005, bombings in the Red Sea resorts of Taba and Sharm El-Sheikh claimed over 100 lives, and in the late 90’s, Islamic militants executed a series of bombings and massacres that left dozens dead.

This attack though comes after a series of more recent incidents that have left Egyptians feeling left out in the cold by a government meant to protect them.

Last summer, 28-year-old businessman Khaled Said was beaten to death by police, also in Alexandria, causing a local and international uproar.

Around his death, there have been numerous other reports of police brutality, random arrests and torture.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

This poem was written in the early 1900s by the Tunisian poet Aboul-Qacem Echebbi during the French occupation of Tunisia. It has found new meaning for Egyptians rebelling against dictator Hosni Mubarak.

To the Tyrants of the World...
You, the lovers of the darkness...
You, the enemies of life...
You've made fun of innocent people's wounds; and your palm covered with their blood
You kept walking while you were deforming the charm of existence and growing seeds of sadness in their land
Wait, don't let the spring, the clearness of the sky and the shine of the morning light fool you...
Because the darkness, the thunder rumble and the blowing of the wind are coming toward you from the horizon
Beware because there is a fire underneath the ash
Who grows thorns will reap wounds
You've taken off heads of people and the flowers of hope; and watered the cure of the sand with blood and tears until it was drunk
The blood's river will sweep you away and you will be burned by the fiery storm.

CFG the slam poet

Fox the Poet

Christopher Fox Grahamis a Montana-born boy raised in Arizona to be a poet, artist, and singer with unending wanderlust. He's fascinated with art and other shiny things, a good story will keep him captivated and silent as he soaks you in.

In truth, he is good at only three things: using language, kissing, and driving.

He has performed for MTV and on The Travel Channel's "Your Travel Guide" episode of Sedona. Aside from winning more than 100 poetry slams, he's published four books of poetry, most recently The Opposite of Camouflage, and won the 2012 Dylan Thomas Award for Excellence in the Written and Spoken Word.

A slam poet since 2001, he currently hosts the bimonthly Sedona Poetry Slam in West Sedona.

For nearly four years, he was the senior Copy Editor of the Sedona Red Rock News, and an arts reporter and a columnist. He wrote a weekly column "Sedona Underground," about the city's art scene. After leaving in May 2008, he was asked to return as Assistant Managing Editor in October 2009. He was promoted to News Editor in April 2012 and in August 2012 was promoted to Managing Editor, overseeing the Sedona Red Rock News,The Camp Verde Journal, Cottonwood Journal Extra, The Scene and The Village View.

He has won numerous personal and editorial newsroom awards from the Arizona Newspapers Association, including three awards for Best Headline.

He was the managing editor of Kudos, a weekly arts and entertainment publication of the Verde Independent. He was also managing editor of The Villager, a weekly news publication in the Village of Oak Creek.

He is one the six coordinators of GumptionFest a kickass, annual, one-day grassroots arts festival held in Sedona, this year in September. More than 100 artists and bands exhibit their work for free to more than 1,200 people.

In 2005, he founded the Sedona Poetry Open Mic, which he hosted biweekly at Java Love Cafe on second and fourth Tuesdays until 2012. A former venue included Random Acts of Coffee, in Sedona, which closed in June 2005. The venue named a drink after him which one can order an various coffeehouses in Sedona. The "Topher": A large soy chai with two (or three) shots of espresso. Serve iced or hot. He was member of the city of Sedona Child and Youth Commission for two years and chairman for another two years before the commission was dissolved in 2008.

He has been unofficially named "The Voice of the Underground," in Sedona for his column "Sedona Underground" that appeared every Friday in The Scene. for more than three years, featuring more than 150 artists.

He won the 2004 NORAZ Poets Grand Slam, the 2005 Arizona All-Star Poetry Slam, and was a member of the 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010, 2012 and 2013 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Teams. He was also a National Poetry Slam bout manager in 2003, venue manager in 2011, and Sedona Slammaster in 2012, 2013 and 2014, sponsoring the city's first three Sedona National Poetry Slam Teams.

He believes that all slam poets are Jedis.

He has been thrown out of six movie theaters, 18 bars, a Las Vegas nightclub with his girlfriend, a public pool, two malls, four golf courses, one bowling alley, five dorms, one airport, one pet store, a now-defunct nonprofit poetry organization ... and Canada. Seriously.